


Testing

by AnselaJonla



Series: Prompt fills [38]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22705408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnselaJonla/pseuds/AnselaJonla
Summary: A fic written for a prompt on the r/WritingPrompts subreddit:[WP]To cheer you up the others promised to buy you a beer if you survive your first day. Holding them to their promise you step out onto the arena ready to test the magic wielders who have come to apply for their magic licenses.
Series: Prompt fills [38]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1097823
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Testing

"It won't be _that_ bad," Grizz said, slapping me on the back. "Accidents like what happened to Frii are quite rare, after all." He hurries off to join the rest of our friends, who are saving him a seat with a good view of the arena floor.

Rare, but dangerous. Frii would always bear the scars of being engulfed last year. The Aspirant who'd cast the Flame Cloak had not survived, the spell having drained his life force after he ran out of magic to sustain the runaway casting. The council are still searching for the _idiot_ who taught a Tier Five spell from the Fire School to an Aspirant whose magic was already showing a strong leaning towards Ice.

I take my position at the centre of the arena, on the disk of carved stone surrounded by sand. A quick glance reassures me that the runes of Warding and Rejuvenation have been renewed: apparently they'd flared and burned out when the expanding Flame Cloak had struck them, although they'd held long enough for Frii to cast her own Greater Ward, saving her life.

I strike the butt of my staff against a rune that sits alone, inside the Warding circle. A deep boom echoes through the arena. The gate through which I entered, leading to the College of Magical Studies, closes, and another one directly opposite opens with a chilling rattle. I can see movement in the darkness beyond.

One by one the Aspirants shuffle out. All are clad in identical white robes and sandals, symbolically shedding all external affiliations. Mages of the College are above politics, above clan feuds, above criminal squabbles.

One by one they walk to the stone mark in the sand and face me. We bow to each other, they deeper than I, and take our stances. They cast first, sending an offensive spell of their choosing my way. Most, boringly, choose a basic Flames spell, a stream of fire that is easily blocked by the runic Warding. A few cast Frostbite, already feeling an Ice affinity, and even rarer are the Lightning-aligned that try to fry my nervous system with Sparks. None from this class try to attack me with a Strike of pure magic, which is disappointing. I'd hoped to find a Neutral like myself to take as an Apprentice.

Not all of the Aspirants will be aligned with the Combat school, but as it's the only school that _all_ Mages can access it's the best test we have for the presence of magical ability.

Some Aspirants, sadly enough, cannot muster anything. They're the hardest to watch. I can practically taste the despair as they desperately try to summon up the barest of flames to send at me. Instead of going to sit in the Neophyte's seats, the floor-level seating that gradually fills during the course of the test, they are forced to return the way they came, to walk shamefully past those still waiting.

After they cast, it's my turn. All Aspirants are encouraged to study the Lesser Ward. About three quarters of Mages can cast this most basic of Defence spells, but fewer than half of the aspirants will. They just don't all consider it _worth_ studying.

The scorch marks that they receive from my deliberately weak Flames will change their mind. It's up to their teachers to discover if their lack of Ward was from inability or ignorance.

By the end of the day I'm exhausted. Even with tapping into the Rejuvenation runes at my feet, I've cast more spells in one day than I normally would in a _month_. I can feel the bone-deep weariness of magical exhaustion, at a level I've not felt since my time with the northern border patrols, defending the mundane soldiers against the magical threats that come from the Wastes.

Three hundred Neophytes crowd into the lower tier of seating. That's a good crop of new blood this year, the largest in several intakes.

But, more importantly, I have drinks to claim from my so-called friends. It's the least they can do, after nominating me as this year's Tester.


End file.
